Sarah Fey
I remember that when I first saw Sarah Palin I immediately thought of trying to reach Loren Michaels, the producer of Saturday Night Live, to urge him to contact Tina Fey about crafting an on-air skit featuring an impersonation of the Alaska governor. A few weeks later, the powers that be at NBC – or Tina herself – obviously had the same idea. When Ms. Fey’s impersonation became a hit, the nation’s rather unhealthy obsession with the moose hunting mama from the north country reached its zenith. Upon closer examination, the story of the former beauty queen turned vice-presidential candidate yields some amusing insights about the intersection of politics and pop culture in America.
From Paris Hilton to Lindsay Lohan to Britney Spears our media-centric culture commonly manufactures celebrities by over-exposing their images in a manner that serves to reinforce their often banal personalities (which we somehow persistently find endearing). It is when a celebrity is deemed worthy of impersonation, however, that their status becomes truly elevated in our society. To be held up to good-natured imitation on the one hand, or possibly sarcastic ridicule on the other, is to be turned into a recognizable icon, a cultural puppet. It is a national grant of official recognition that comparatively few achieve.
Over the last few weeks, the once unknown Alaskan governor has been largely held back by McCain campaign bosses from the kind of full bore press exposure that would be fitting for someone in her unusual circumstance. When Governor Palin began to grace the pages of the National Inquirer and other tabloids, I began to think that her investiture as a true American icon was complete. Even after her awkward appearances on two network interviews and her debate performance against Joe Biden, it seems that we are still far from knowing exactly who this woman truly is. It was after seeing her debate, however, replete with quaint, colloquial phraseology, barbecued rural allure and flirtatious winks that I came to a rather startling realization: Sarah Palin, the politician, is herself a manufactured personna.
Ms. Palin ascended to the governor's chair in Alaska by virtue of her political costume: a fresh faced, camera savvy creature with rectangular glasses, a beehive hair-do and a passion for reform. In a state riddled with corruption and guilt over its marginal ethics, it is little wonder that voters turned to Palin who came into office and cracked her whip, becoming the popular dominatrix of Alaskan politics. In just a few short weeks her packaged look and zealous disposition, so successful up north, has come to dominate the national airwaves, leaving one to wonder at the infantile needs of our nation. The only question that remains is how soon Ms. Palin will appear on Saturday Night Live doing an imitation of Tina Fey imitating Sarah Palin.
I remember that when I first saw Sarah Palin I immediately thought of trying to reach Loren Michaels, the producer of Saturday Night Live, to urge him to contact Tina Fey about crafting an on-air skit featuring an impersonation of the Alaska governor. A few weeks later, the powers that be at NBC – or Tina herself – obviously had the same idea. When Ms. Fey’s impersonation became a hit, the nation’s rather unhealthy obsession with the moose hunting mama from the north country reached its zenith. Upon closer examination, the story of the former beauty queen turned vice-presidential candidate yields some amusing insights about the intersection of politics and pop culture in America.
From Paris Hilton to Lindsay Lohan to Britney Spears our media-centric culture commonly manufactures celebrities by over-exposing their images in a manner that serves to reinforce their often banal personalities (which we somehow persistently find endearing). It is when a celebrity is deemed worthy of impersonation, however, that their status becomes truly elevated in our society. To be held up to good-natured imitation on the one hand, or possibly sarcastic ridicule on the other, is to be turned into a recognizable icon, a cultural puppet. It is a national grant of official recognition that comparatively few achieve.
Over the last few weeks, the once unknown Alaskan governor has been largely held back by McCain campaign bosses from the kind of full bore press exposure that would be fitting for someone in her unusual circumstance. When Governor Palin began to grace the pages of the National Inquirer and other tabloids, I began to think that her investiture as a true American icon was complete. Even after her awkward appearances on two network interviews and her debate performance against Joe Biden, it seems that we are still far from knowing exactly who this woman truly is. It was after seeing her debate, however, replete with quaint, colloquial phraseology, barbecued rural allure and flirtatious winks that I came to a rather startling realization: Sarah Palin, the politician, is herself a manufactured personna.
Ms. Palin ascended to the governor's chair in Alaska by virtue of her political costume: a fresh faced, camera savvy creature with rectangular glasses, a beehive hair-do and a passion for reform. In a state riddled with corruption and guilt over its marginal ethics, it is little wonder that voters turned to Palin who came into office and cracked her whip, becoming the popular dominatrix of Alaskan politics. In just a few short weeks her packaged look and zealous disposition, so successful up north, has come to dominate the national airwaves, leaving one to wonder at the infantile needs of our nation. The only question that remains is how soon Ms. Palin will appear on Saturday Night Live doing an imitation of Tina Fey imitating Sarah Palin.
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